They Couldn't Be More Different
by Socken
Summary: Martin Crieff and Sherlock Holmes are social outcasts at school for rather different reasons. However it does mean they get forced together a lot. Hiatus until I finish my other story. Hope to be done by September (2013) at the latest :)
1. 8th September: Martin

**They couldn't be more different**

_8__th__September 2008_

Most kids get nervous on their first day at school.

Martin Crieff was no exception - quite the opposite, he was more nervous than your average kid, he was visibly trembling, and beginning to sweat. He was already worrying about sweat patches and B.O., which really didn't help him calm down.

"Keep still Tinny!" His brother Simon had always called him that, because apparently he always sounded hollow.

"You're spraying me like a wet dog!"

Simon never said anything nice - he was a bully. He wasn't one of those bullies that everyone secretly hates, but is too scared to say; he was an annoying bully in that - apart from Martin - he was nice to everyone. He was constantly smiling, and always got good school grades. He was never caught, and took no time at all to do his homework. Martin didn't hate him, he was just _insanely_ jealous. Simon could easily become a pilot if he wanted, he didn't want. Martin wanted, but he couldn't easily become a pilot. Everyone knew that, even he did. Luckily, while everyone else thought he couldn't _ever_ become a pilot, he just thought it might take him a while. Still, just thinking about flying had helped him calm down. A few more deep breaths and he was no longer shuddering.

"You can't blow me dry you know!" - Simon being horrid again.

Dad came in. "Look after him Simon, he's smaller and shyer than you."

"'Course Dad, he's my brother." With this Simon grabbed Martin round the shoulders with one arm, and shook him in what seemed like a brotherly display of affection, but was actually a brain bashing exercise in which Martin struggled to keep his head on straight.

The school bus was crowded - they were the last stop. Luckily this meant Simon couldn't insert himself in an adjacent seat to Martin and badger him. He did however end up next to a spotty faced boy a number of years older than him, who grunted a response to Martin's stuttered greeting, and managed to jab him with the corner of the book he was reading every time the bus bounced in a pothole - of which there were many - as they swung round the car park, and into the school lay by.

It was an all-boys school. Martin's sister Caitlin went to a girls' school in completely the opposite direction from their house. He sometimes wished that her school was mixed - from what she said about life there it was perfect for him. Even the unpopular ones had _some_ friends. Simon had told him numerous horror stories about Wokingham Boys' School. It wasn't as boring as it sounded. Simon wasn't kind enough to tell Martin horror stories about the school; instead he just related how much he loved it, and how he'd never survive without his friends. Martin knew he'd make no friends, he never had. Not at primary school, not in his short time as Cub Scout, not even among his peers at his social group. He was going in a few weeks to get the result of his Autism assessment. Basically someone somewhere would talk to all his old teachers, and some of the new ones, and do some other stuff to try and gauge his social aptitude. Martin didn't see the point, his social aptitude was 0, and he knew it.

He went through the usual shenanigans of a new start, planner, rules, timetable, name, and a tutor, Mr. Greendale. In that time he met one patronising idiot and made one enemy. Jackson had ruled him off as insane at the words "Physics" and "Maths", and Lucas was stuck to him like if he left Martin might faint from withdrawal. Martin had considered speech therapy for his stutter, but his dad would never approved, he'd just say he needed to man up and it'd go away itself anyway, no need to spend money on some therapist.

Mr. Greendale then decided that it would be good for all their confidence if each class member stood up and said a few words about themselves, their family, and their old school. Martin was somewhere around the middle, before Lucas or Jackson.

"I'm M…M…M… Martin" Already he could hear the sniggers. "My brother S…Simon is i..in year 10 here, and I come from the s…same school as Rob." He bobbed on the spot in an attempt at 'I'm done' but Mr. Greendale wasn't done with him yet.

"Tell us something about yourself Martin - I don't know… what do you want to be when you're older?" Of all the questions he could have chosen, he'd quickly be judged in all manner of ways now.

"A pilot."

"Fantastic, maybe you can tell us more some time. Come on… Freddie, you next" Martin sat down, and Lucas whispered in his ear.

"What? You didn't tell me that!"

"You didn't ask!"

"I'm trying to be your friend!"

"Sorry, I guess I'm nervous." Martin could tell Lucas was still miffed, but he really would rather be friendless than have to follow this lad around like a puppy just for the rare occasion when he actually wanted to talk to him.

The other speakers faded into the background, as Martin began counting down to his first Science lesson. He hoped the teacher was nice, he liked Science.

**AN: Not much to say, just big thanks to my Beta CatsWhiskers for her help and advice. Also, please review as feedback is always welcome :)**


	2. 8th September: Sherlock

**8****th****September: Sherlock**

Sherlock Holmes was bored.

He was sitting in the passenger seat of his brother Mycroft's car, en route to school. Mycroft had offered to drive him as it was his first day, save him making any enemies on the bus. Also it was on Mycroft's route home to London, as he was going back to work the next day.

Mycroft had started as a tea boy serving certain members of the Cabinet, and had made many of the right friends along the way. He was getting more and more cagey about his precise job title with each new promotion, and Sherlock was fairly confident he hadn't told them about some of those occasions.

As Mycroft pulled into the lay-by by the school gates, he gave some parting advice to his brother.

"Try to fit in…" He knew it was a futile endeavour; what purpose would it serve towards his favourite (and only) brother's ultimate aims? Friends were of no use to him. Sherlock slammed the car door with a resounding 'thunk', and Mycroft pulled away with a sigh.

* * *

Sherlock scanned his timetable disinterestedly, having been quick to make the right impression on his form tutor. He was, of course, in the top set, and a few cleverly worded letters from his mum made sure that every week he'd miss an hour of citizenship lessons for his social awareness sessions.

With a resigned sigh, Sherlock began to learn what he could about his classmates: his brother's unemployed; she's in the bottom set, and pleased about it; those two know each other, but they'll fall out within weeks; that kid got the bus to school, and has made an enemy already; the one with him has a mental age less than 10, probably about 8, and will cling like a limpet given half the chance.

Sherlock made a bet with himself. By Wednesday, Ginger would be alone and Limpet Kid would have found a new rock to cling to, this time slightly less crumbly.

The pair began to whisper heatedly, and Sherlock smiled superiorly. He wouldn't have such issues; he wouldn't make any friends.

It was at this point that his form tutor, Mr. Greendale, called him up to the front of the class to introduce himself.

* * *

Everyone stared at him as he coolly pushed his way through to his back seat desk.

"I'm cleverer than all of you" had been a genius first line. All the 'gifted' kids in the room immediately showed themselves, and he noted each of them carefully for future reference. He had then isolated all those with secrets in the room _– "I can read minds"-_ and began to expose each of them in turn. There was nothing major in there, he wasn't that insensitive; just crushes and phobias and such like. No alcoholics yet.

However, with just a few sentences Sherlock Holmes had learned more about the class of peers watching him than they would ever learn about him in his entire school career. Even Mr. Greendale had some food for thought after Sherlock's revelations.

Sherlock allowed himself a slight smile, and began looking forward to the promised fireworks in 'Religious Studies'.


	3. 9th September: Martin

**9****th****September: Martin**

The usual Simon-related woes began as punctually as ever, and Martin trailed into maths on Tuesday morning feeling rather not good. So when the scary guy from form time leaned over and asked "Do you have one of those idiotic rubbers with the faces?" and Martin brandished a tiny grinning biplane replete with nose propeller and stupid hat, he physically drew away from the withering glare he received as 'Holmes' plucked the offending item from his fingers, and flicked it back with one disdainful digit.

Lucas was sulking already; they had had a fall out over the 'boringness' of Martin's school rucksack. Martin really didn't think Lucas's friendship was worth enough to warrant an investment in a brand new schoolbag, less than a week into the year, when anything which may meet with Lucas' approval would undoubtedly be a bully magnet, and further convince his father he was "a damn Queer". Martin never really understood what a Queer was, but he got the impression his dad didn't like them, so Martin was all in favour of them taking over the world, if it would aid at all in distracting Mr. Crieff Snr. from his younger son's downfalls.

Martin didn't see the scary kid again that morning, as he was probably in top set, and Martin was second to bottom out of four. Of course, Simon was in top set, and Caitlin had flickered between top and second for a year and finally settled in top place within second. Then again, Martin's father was less worried about her, she was a girl. Martin was dreading Wednesday, P.E. lessons had a habit of showing him up. At least this time there was no risk of dumb clothing, unless you counted Simon's 3-sizes-too-big cast off P.E. _uniform._ Ugh, there was nothing uniform about his, the 'white' shorts were grey, the 'red' top had faded to brown from too much washing, and if the trainers were glued any more they'd stick to Martin's feet. Martin's family weren't exactly poor, just 'thrifty' as Mum always said.

Afternoon form was when things kicked off with Lucas, because Martin was not willing to switch lockers to be nearer him. He would no longer be allowed any of Lucas' break time Haribos, and the seat beside him on the bus would now be strictly off-limits, Martin struggled not to heave a sigh of relief, life was too short to worry about the latest SpongeBob episode, or whether he had ham or tuna in his sandwiches that day, and anyway, Martin had a school lunch. As the list of new rules concerning Lucas interaction were reeled off by his new worst enemy, Martin noticed the Scary Kid was watching them from under his fringe, and was smirking to himself, as if their fight was some victory to him. Martin glared, and hoped to goodness he wasn't noticed, as the stream of new regulations ran on, and on, and on.

**Sorry it's so short guys, but until they start spending more time together, I'm not sure what else to write about. Any suggestions would be great As always, please review.**

**Danke schön**

~Socken


	4. 9th September: Sherlock

**Chapter 4**

Limpet Kid and Ginger fell out just after lunch, but that was no more than was to be expected. Physics was fun though; the teacher wasn't an idiot, and, unlike Mrs. Don't-experiment-with-hair-dye-and-watercolours-at-the-same-time-nor-even-seperately from the art department, was not harbouring a wierd combination of grudge and enormous phobia about Sherlock. Mr Farding was even clever enough to realise that it wasn't worth addressing him beyond 'Holmes?' in the register, and that Sherlock could be relied upon to produce a complete set of notes at the end of the lesson whenever he thought it was worth it. And when he didn't think it was worth it, that meant it wasn't. However Mr. Farding's understanding of the inner workings of a superior human mind may possibly be a result of his wife's job with children who suffer from learning difficulties, or special needs at the local girl's school. Or possibly because he was currently reading 'Diary of a One Year Old' and was rather over-analysing it, by highlighting bits in red. In some ways this was more likely to be the reason; he was hardly on the best of terms with his wife, and this was because of either a) her job b) her hatred of science or c) his mistress (who, by the way, is an English teacher, and close friend of the anti-experiment Art teacher). Sherlock made a mental note to make good use of this point of leverage at the appropriate moment.

By the time Sherlock had exhausted all points of interest about all the important classmates (and some of the unimportant ones) he was pretty fed up of school and was looking forward to a day off tomorrow following the correct conversation with his mother. That plan was rather scuppered however, as Mycroft was home.

"How was school?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's clichéd comment. "I've been talking to your Art teacher..."

"Fine!" Sherlock sighed

"And...?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows at his younger brother, as if daring him not to continue.

"My Physics teacher isn't an idiot..."

"Sherlock? How many times have i told you not to call people idiots?" There was a note of exasperation in Mrs. Holmes' voice, which to the untrained ear would have sounded more like boredom. Mycroft looked at her, signalling that it really wasn't the right moment to criticise certain aspects of her younger son's social perspective, and she became speedily silent.

"Carry on, dear brother" Mycroft smiled at Sherlock, almost threateningly. Sherlock was unperturbed.

"There's a pair of boys in my year had a rather hilarious fallout"

"Oh really, what were their names?" The look of interest in the Holmes brothers' mother's eyes was clearly not entirely honest, again only to the untrained eye. But this did give Sherlock the confidence to look her steadily in the eyes as he told her.

"Limpet kid... and Ginger." Mycroft glared at him, eyebrows raised, and Sherlock glared back, mimicking his brother's eyebrows to an incredibly fine point, a result of regular practice.

This was the end of the conversation.


End file.
